DEAD UNLUCKY: A Joe Box Story

by Jim Reeves

  He looked at his watch. Just after four o’clock. He doubted if anybody would visit the kitchen before midday. It would probably be much later as the club didn’t normally grind into action until well into the afternoon. Joe walked out of the kitchen using the bleach soaked cloth to switch off the lights as he went.

  Back in the office, he returned to the computer and sat down. He was still holding the gun. He broke it open and saw that it held six bullets. All six had been fired. He let out a low whistle. Close but not close enough.

  Chapter 39

  It seemed that George Bishop and Otto Braun were small cogs in a very large wheel that spread misery right across Europe. Their primary business interest was moving people, usually into the UK.

  Sometimes voluntarily in return for large sums of money. Sometimes whole families. All would be provided with documents and short term accommodation. Sometimes people would be brought in by force when blackmail or threats of physical violence might be used as an inducement. The forced immigrants were usually girls required to work in brothels or workers expected to provide cheap labour in sweat shops. The amounts of money involved made Joe’s jaw drop.

  A second and even more lucrative source of income came from the circulation of pornographic material to a paedophile ring. Bishop seemed to be the man with connections to a UK network. He obtained an almost unlimited supply of filth and redirected it to Otto Braun for further distribution. Looking at the dates and numbers of photographs on Bishop’s computer, it seemed to Joe that the demand was insatiable. The CDs that Joe had delivered to Otto Braun had contained hundreds of new photographs. The chances of Joe being stopped by HM Customs & Excise were considered slim to non-existent. It was considered far less risky than sending the material via the internet. If Joe had been picked up, George Bishop would have denied all knowledge of him and the CDs. No doubt Bishop would already have contingency plans in place to cover his own tracks. Only Joe’s reputation and freedom had been at risk. He would have been hung out to dry and become a pariah, even with his own friends.

  Joe glanced only briefly at a few of the photographs. He had seen more than enough on Otto Braun’s computer. He felt nauseated inside. His feelings of guilt over what was happening inside the freezer dissipated rapidly. He felt like dragging Bishop back out and inflicting serious pain on him. The presence of Pete in the freezer tempered that urge. Also the memory of his own suffering in sub-zero temperatures just a few nights ago gave him some satisfaction. The slow, lingering death and the accompanying terror inside the darkness of the freezer, would far outdo any other punishment that Joe could possibly conceive.

  Joe browsed Bishop’s emails. Looking through his inbox, he found a confirmation from the airline regarding his own flight to Salzburg. He deleted it.

  He found an email to Otto Braun in the outbox giving his arrival time at Salzburg Airport. He deleted that as well. He browsed slowly through the rest of the emails but found nothing in the inbox that might implicate him. He knew that if the police set some computer guru to work, he would soon track Joe’s activities, but there was nothing to identify Joe as having used the PC. Bishop had logged on himself. There were other emails about other people who had probably taken a one way trip. Bill Pearson was amongst them. Joe left those emails untouched.

  He pondered for a while. If the police were really thorough, they would find a transaction on Bishop’s credit card account for his Salzburg flight booking. If they followed it through, they would find that Joe was the passenger. There was nothing he could do about that. He had no way of accessing the airline company’s database. He would just have to sit tight and have a story ready, if questioned. He would say that he delivered a package for Bishop, spent a couple of days in Salzburg then came home. That was almost true. He wouldn’t have any hotel bills, if they asked, which could be a problem. He could say he stayed with a friend, but the only friend he had in Austria was Betine. He didn’t want to involve her. That might draw interest from Otto Braun’s people. He would just sit tight and hope that the police didn’t care enough about Bishop to follow it through.

  Joe planned to leave the computer switched on with the rest the data intact for the police to find. Hopefully, it would stir up big problems for those people who remained active in the paedophile network. To further stir up a hornet’s nest, Joe spent the next hour or so copying sample emails and files to the blank CDs he had taken from Bishop’s desk. He made seven copies of the CDs. When he had finished, he used Google to obtain addresses of people he intended to send six of the CDs to. It took him a little while but eventually, he had six envelopes ready, stamped, addressed and sealed. Each envelope contained a CD. He kept the seventh CD for himself as a backup. If it became too hot to handle, he could soon get rid of it.

  It was time to clean up the office. He set to work, spraying the computer mouse and key board, the two chairs that he had sat on, the top of the desk and the door handles. He couldn’t remember touching anywhere else. He picked up a briefcase at the side of Bishop’s desk. Fortunately, it wasn’t locked. He emptied the contents onto the floor, put the empty case on the desk and quickly transferred the money from the safe to it. He added the gun, the whisky glass that he had drunk from earlier and the seventh CD that he had created. He could have wiped the glass clean, but he wasn’t sure how thorough DNA testing could be, so he decided to take it with him and get rid of it elsewhere. He kept the gloves on for the moment.

  He would lose the gun, the briefcase and the whisky glass later. He had taken a liking to the gun and found it easy to use. But bullets from the gun would be found in the walls of the office and the kitchen and, more importantly, in Vince’s leg, so it would have to go.

  Finally satisfied, Joe picked up the briefcase, tucked the six envelopes under his arm and walked to the door. He took once last look around the office, switched off the lights and left.

  He exited the building via the door that led to the alley at the side of the club. The Jaguar was still parked outside. Joe was briefly tempted to take the car but thought better of it. He could have nothing that would link him to George Bishop.

  It was just after six o’clock when he walked onto Broad Street. The city was slowly waking up. He stood for a moment, breathing deeply, letting his pulse rate slow a little. A pale sun peered tentatively through the clouds. A couple of buses shunted towards the city. One or two pedestrians were already on the street. Joe turned and walked towards Five Ways. He felt good in the cool morning air but needed a hot coffee and breakfast soon. First though, he had to post the six envelopes. The contents were identical. A CD with a Word file note that identified the disk contents as belonging to George Bishop of the Fat Katz Club, and numerous emails and sample child porn photographs. Joe had listed the six recipients in the Word file so that each of them would know about the other five. There was no chance that the CDs would be ignored.

  The recipients of the CDs were to be the Chief Superintendent of West Midlands Police, the local Member of Parliament, the news editor of BBC Midlands Television, the editor of the Birmingham Evening Mail, the editor of the Daily Mirror and the editor of the Times newspaper.

  Joe pushed the six envelopes into a letter box near Five Ways. He was pretty sure there would be a rapid reaction. The next twenty-four hours could prove to be very interesting. He could imagine the newspapers scrambling to be first to get a printable story.

  He called in at a supermarket to pick up some food essentials. He knew his cupboard would be pretty bare at home. Armed with lifesaving supplies, he wondered briefly what state the occupants of the freezer might in as he turned towards home. He didn’t give it too much thought. He needed breakfast.

  Chapter 40

  Joe entered his apartment building by the front door and used the lift to travel to the third floor. There was a nasty stain on the carpet outside the lift where Gerry Harper had deposited several pints of beer the night before. How many hours ago was that? Less than ten. It seemed like a lifetime. Joe smiled. Harper
would have the mother of all hangovers and some serious apologizing to do this morning. He’d be okay though. He had a smile like an angel and enough blarney in his soul to charm even the most belligerent adversary.

  The door to Joe’s apartment was wide open. Vince had probably left it that way on his last frantic visit. Joe entered slowly, but didn’t expect to find any unexpected visitors this time.

  He checked the bathroom and the living area. Then he took the stairs up to the gallery. All was clear, as expected.

  He closed the door and propped a chair against it. He would report the damage to the building maintenance people in a couple of hours. He would tell them he had been away for a few days and had returned to find the door broken. True story.

  He returned to the bathroom, peeled off his reeking clothes and stepped into the shower. He let the hot water run over him for several minutes. Washing the chill from his bones. The memories wouldn’t wash away quite so easily.

  He stepped out of the shower, towelled himself dry and slipped on his dressing gown. In the kitchen, he set the coffee machine going and put some bacon under the grill. When the bacon was almost ready he cracked two eggs into the frying pan. Minutes later he was sitting watching television with a scalding coffee, a fried breakfast and toast. He knew the news wouldn’t break that quickly but he watched anyway.

  He would call Sally later to let her know he was doing all right. He would most likely get a call from Fish sometime soon. Certainly, once the news broke about the goings on at the Fat Katz Club. He decided not to tell him any more than he had to. He trusted him implicitly, but the less Fish knew, the less trouble he could talk himself into.

  He thought briefly about Betine and smiled wistfully. One very special lady. Another time, another place. How many times in his life had he said that? Maybe he would take a trip to Eichl when the heat was off. Maybe he would just walk right into her clothing store and buy himself a sweater. Maybe. He shook his head sadly. Maybe not. She didn’t need the hassle he would bring.

  He had to get rid of the briefcase, the gun and the glass and the two wallets he had acquired. He would take a bus ride later and do that. The money was a different matter. The Eight thousand odd quid, plus the cash he got from Otto Braun would help keep him going for quite a while. He just had to find somewhere safe to stash it. Under the mattress didn’t appeal too much. The building society might ask questions if he deposited that much cash in one go. He would have to give it more thought.

  He got dressed, brewed another coffee, dug out a paperback he had been reading and returned to the settee. The next thing he heard was the telephone ringing and he woke with a start. The paperback was on the floor, the cup of coffee was cold on the table in front of him. He looked at his watch. It was three o’clock in the afternoon.

  He picked up the phone. ‘Hello,’ he said groggily.

  It was Fish. ‘You okay?’ he asked.

  ‘Never better,’ Joe said.

  ‘How did it go?’

  ‘I’ll tell you when I see you.’

  ‘You’re okay though?’

  ‘You woke me up so, no, I’m not okay.’

  ‘I was worried about you.’

  ‘I’m touched,’ Joe told him. ‘But I’m also tired.’

  ‘Can I come round?’ asked Fish.

  Joe thought for a moment. ‘I’ve got some things I have to do,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow would be better.’

  ‘As long as you’re okay.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Joe said. He hung up before Fish could say anything else.

  He stood up and stretched. It was as good a time as any to get rid of unwanted evidence. He still had the rubber gloves in his jacket pocket. He put them back on and set the briefcase down on the coffee table. He took the money from the case and stacked it on the table. It occurred to him that he had probably never seen that much cash in one place before. He took the briefcase into the small kitchen and sprayed it with a multipurpose cleaner that he kept under the sink. Then he wiped it dry with a paper towel. He repeated the process with the Webley gun and the whisky glass and the two wallets. He slid the seventh CD he had created into a Stones CD case and put the case in the middle of his collection of disks in his CD tower. Somebody would have to be very thorough to find that. The actual Stones CD was in the player his car. He would apologize to Mick Jagger if he ever met him. He was going to keep the Magnum. That hadn’t been used in any crime, as far as he knew. He would get some hassle if the police ever found out he had it, but should get away with no more than a sharp slap on the wrist.

  He’d taken a liking to the whisky glass. It was heavy cut glass and obviously very expensive and he had enjoyed drinking his whisky out of it. It was a stupid idea but he was going to keep it for the time being, at least. If things got too hot, he could get rid of it pretty easily. Maybe just smash it and scatter the broken pieces in a nearby canal.

  He found a black bin bag and pushed the briefcase into it. He didn’t want to be seen carrying it in the street. He put the gun and the wallets into a supermarket carrier bag. He put both bags up on the gallery then picked up the phone to call the building maintenance people.

  They said they couldn’t come until the following day. Joe wasn’t happy but that was the best they could do. He wasn’t keen to leave the eight thousand in his flat with the door unlocked so he would have to delay getting rid of the evidence. He gathered up the money from the coffee table and took it up to the gallery. Still undecided where to hide it, he dropped it loosely on the floor.

  He picked up the phone and dialled Sally’s number. She picked up almost immediately.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘It’s me,’ Joe said.

  ‘Hello me.’

  ‘All sorted,’ he said.

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ she said. ‘You want to come over?’

  ‘I’ve a few things to do here. Maybe later.’

  They finally agreed a loose arrangement for lunch the following day, depending if Joe’s lock had been fixed by then. Joe hung up, made himself another coffee then sat down to consider the problem of the eight thousand pounds. He could leave it at Sal’s place but he didn’t want her taking chances on his behalf. The same went for Penny, although she was probably past tense now. He stared around the apartment. There were no suitable nooks or crannies. The place was so small that anybody making a search would be sure to find the money in two minutes flat. He had a garage at the back of the building but that was even less secure. It had been broken into three times in the last twelve months.

  His telephone rang. It was Fish. ‘You seen the news?’ He asked in a tremulous voice.

  ‘Not yet,’ Joe said apprehensively. A spasm of fear ran through him.

  ‘Switch your telly on. They’re saying three men have been found dead at the Fat Katz Club.’

  Joe reached for the remote control and switched on the television. The local news report was being broadcast. A reporter was on the screen giving details of events at the Fat Katz Club. Apparently the three men had been found dead in the freezer in mid-afternoon by a member of the kitchen staff. Joe felt bad about that. It must have been a nasty shock for somebody who was probably being paid peanuts for the privilege. The reporter said that no names were being released yet.

  ‘You got it on?’ asked Fish.

  ‘I’m watching,’ Joe said.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Sounds like three men died in the freezer.’

  ‘I know that,’ whispered Fish. ‘But why? What happened? You were there last night.’

  ‘Things happened,’ Joe said flatly. ‘One thing led to another. We’ll talk tomorrow.’

  ‘You said you were just going to tie up a few loose ends,’ said Fish.

  ‘They’re tied up,’ Joe told him. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow. We can meet up somewhere and talk some more.’ He hung up and stared at the screen as the reporter wound up the report.

  He felt no real concern. The report had said nothing he didn’t already know. There w
as nothing to connect him to George Bishop as far as he knew. He had deleted all email references to himself. He had also cleaned up very thoroughly as he left the club. He just had to keep his head down and let the dust settle. He just hoped that Fish wouldn’t panic in the meantime.

  Joe switched off the television, poured himself a generous measure of whisky over ice in his newly acquired glass then picked up the paperback he had been reading earlier and sank down onto the settee.

  Chapter 41

  The maintenance people arrived next morning as arranged. Two men. Why did it take two men, Joe wondered? They repaired the lock in less than half an hour. Joe signed a piece of paper and they left.

  He picked up the phone to call Sally to confirm their meeting. The doorbell rang before he could key in her number. Joe put the phone down and opened the door to see two more men outside. He was about to tell them the job had already been done when he realised they weren’t dressed like maintenance men.

  ‘Joe Box?’ enquired the older man. He was in his mid-forties and looked a little worn around the edges. Like maybe he hadn’t slept much lately. Joe knew the feeling.

  Yes,’ Joe said.

  ‘DS Dave Austin,’ said the man, displaying his warrant card. ‘This is my colleague DC Prior. Can we have a word?’

  Joe’s was dumbstruck. How could they have got on to him so quickly? He had been so careful, so thorough cleaning up, but here they were, knocking at his door, less than twenty four hours after the bodies had been found? A variety of emotions must have danced across his face at that moment with surprise, fear and shock probably most prominent.

  ‘You all right?’ enquired Austin.

  ‘Just surprised,’ Joe said stepping aside to let them enter. His mind was in turmoil. Should he have said that? Why should he be surprised? He racked his brain. What did they know? What would they say? Let them do the talking. Let them tell him. He had a sudden inspiration. ‘I haven’t even reported it,’ he told Austin as they walked through to his living room.